


trade ya

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Eating, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Genderqueer Character, Hotel Sex, Hotels, Male-Female Friendship, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sexual Humor, Sharing Clothes, Undercover, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: Post S5. Daisy and Coulson go on an undercover mission, and the night turns out even better than they expected when they exchange clothes.





	trade ya

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts).



It's been a pretty damn good night.

She doesn't get too many of those, so when they get back to the hotel room - an actual fancy hotel room- she flops down on the bed and pops open her laptop to insert the hard drive and uploads the data they've acquired to send it back to the base.

"That was the best handoff we've had in a long time," she says aloud, toeing her heels off as they thunk to the carpeted floor. Now she has all night left to do something and it feels almost a little overwhelming when nothing goes wrong.

She absolutely _can't_ get used to this.

"You know, you're right," he agrees with her, a ponderous tone in his voice, and once she sees the data uploading without a hitch, she pushes the laptop to the side and looks up at him taking his tuxedo jacket off, and starting to undo his bowtie.

"Suspenders?"

"Yeah," he tells her, with a funny expression, like he's worried she thinks he isn't cool. As he gets the top button of the shirt open, she watches him way longer than necessary.

Coulson always did look nice in suits, and these days, it's mostly field jackets. At least in her operation. She feels a bit nostalgic.

"It came with the suit," he goes on, explaining, like they're not really useful. "Why do you ask-"

"They're cool," she says, swinging her legs off the bed to sit up, remembering the last time she wore suspenders. "Can I see them?"

Now he looks amused, and a little curious, like he's discovered something terribly interesting about her. It's true she doesn't talk about her past that much. Neither does he.

Although she would. With him. They just don't seem to find the time for things like that.

"Uh, sure?" he says and slips his bowtie off and puts it on the nearby table, then starts to quickly take them off. "They're the kind that need buttons sewn on the inside of your pants."

"What are they made out of?" she asks, getting off the bed and walking towards him as he tries to maneuver to get around his waist to the back of the pants. "Here, I'll help."

She starts to do just that, pulling back the waistband a little as he stands up very straight suddenly, like he's a soldier at ready.

When she gets them off, he slips them back over his shoulders and lets her take them, as she runs her fingers over them.

"They have a little pattern on them," she remarks.

"It's herringbone," he offers. "They're made out of silk. Do you want them?"

"Herringbone," she repeats, like she's impressed with him, and watches him start to fidget a little. "You like them, don't you?"

"They're pretty old fashioned," he admits with a little shrug. "It's an expensive suit." He pauses and purses his lips. "Yes, I like them very much."

She chuckles at him a little, and he looks like he might be actually blushing. "Okay. Wouldn't want to break up the set."

"It's not important," he says, as she pushes them back into his hands, noting her teasing barb about his collecting ways with a flick of his eyes. "Keep them. I always know where I can find them."

"Or we could trade," she tells him, raising an eyebrow at him. "You can have something of mine."

He tries to maintain the light, bantering tone their conversation has been in all night, but he stumbles for a moment, like he's stuck. Like he's flustered.

"What do you mean?" he asks in a small voice, his eyes fluttering slightly.

It makes her suddenly think about what she might want to do for the rest of the night, if that were possible.

"I mean, take a good look," she says, taking a step back from him and modelling her outfit, joking. The black dress with the high neck and cutout shoulders. The knee-length hem with the expensive black nylons reinforced at the toe that she points at him, with her hands on her hips.

"I don't think that's my style," he tells her, putting his hands on his hips in reply. "Or my size."

She laughs at him and his sassy tone, and looks him up and down, at the half unbuttoned white tuxedo shirt, with the t-shirt underneath, and fitted black pants.

"I bet I could fit into that," she says, and walks to find his jacket, and slips it on over the dress. The arms are much bigger than hers, but the shoulders work and it's only just a bit too long in the sleeves.

"Looks good on you," he says, and she catches his eyes, again, how they're intense, but like he seems to be somewhere else.

"We should order some room service, take advantage of SHIELD footing the bill," she tells him, thinking maybe it's because they've been so busy they haven't eaten and it's getting late.

He's probably getting tired of this game and humoring her.

"Here," he says, finishing undoing his dress shirt buttons and slipping it off his shoulders, leaving his t-shirt underneath. "You can try it on with the suspenders."

She takes the shirt from him, eyeing _him_ curiously now, and looking at his chest filling out the t-shirt. "How about the t-shirt instead?"

That makes him tilt his head at her like she must be kidding him, but she's not, if she's being honest, she was thinking of wearing those suspenders with a t-shirt and-

"Okay," he says, wiggling his fingers at her. "Give me back the shirt, then."

Shoving it right into his hands, he gives her a smirk and walks by her to go into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. It's because of his scar, she's sure.

"What do you want to eat?" she says through the door at him.

"Something," he pauses, mulling it over. " _Decadent_ ," he finally adds with some laughter in his voice, muffled by the bathroom door.

The menu is over at the table and she flips through it and looks at the extensive menu, a lot of stuff that doesn't seem very good to her, but there's a hamburger with some truffles something on it which makes it decadent in her book.

She dials the restaurant and orders the food up, and throws in a couple of milkshakes with ridiculously fancy names, just as the door opens, and he comes out wearing the shirt mostly buttoned, with his t-shirt in hand.

"Here you go," he tells her, as she takes it from him and then holds it up to her body to check the fit, going to the duffel bag she packed and pulling out her boots and jeans and setting them on the bed.

"You have to have buttons on the inside of the pants," he reminds her, and she nods and then knows that the obvious solution is right in front of her.

"Just give me yours," she says, gesturing at his pants. "You can wear your jeans, unless." She holds up her jeans to see if they might fit him. They have some stretch, but, probably not quite enough to tempt him.

"Pass," he says. "I'm too cool for skinny jeans."

She goes into the bathroom with the t-shirt and suspenders and sets them on the sink then starts to unzip the back of her dress. 

"Hey, a little help?" He had to help her get it zipped up earlier before the mission. Which he did very quickly and efficiently, all agent-mode about it.

He peeks in through the door and then she holds her hair up and turns her back to him. He slowly draws the zipper down until it gets to the middle of her back, and then he stops. Waiting.

Her hands release her hair and then she blinks and turns over her shoulder to look at him, his slightly dazed expression, and it sends a burst of desire through her, like they're in a moment in older spy movies she's seen. Wondering to herself if any of this is real, if she needs to be pinched.

"Pants," she orders, taking her eyes off of his parted lips, and holding her dress to her chest as he blinks a few times himself and then starts to undo his belt and then realizes what he's doing and backs out, closing the door after him, as she gets out of the dress quickly and pulls the t-shirt over her head and then takes the nylons off.

There's a noise on the other side of the door. Like someone leaning hard against it, then backing off again. Maybe they should both be freaking out about this?

"Ready," she says, then it swings open again and he holds the pants out through the cracked door as she takes them and puts them on, scrambling to zip them up.

She opens up the door from inside and he's standing just outside. His pants are a bit big for her, it's obvious, but the length is right if she wore her heels and it looks cute and sort of undone which is the whole point.

He goes for the suspenders and turns her, starts to flip back the edge of her pants to get the buttons and the suspender holes to line up, his fingers fumbling at bit, when his eyes catch on the silk stockings laid out on the counter.

"They're silk," she tells him, looking at his reflection in the mirror, noticing the way his cheeks are definitely pinker now, and also his ears. "They're really expensive, some British or French brand, I can't remember, all I remember is that they don't rip."

"Hold still," he tells her, even though she is holding still, and she watches him draw his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before he goes back to work, his brow furrowing in concentration. He gets one secure then moves on immediately to the other. Trying to stay distracted.

"Hey, Coulson."

His hands stop working and she can see he's thinking, he's thinking a lot right now and it's not just concentration. He finally looks up at her, with his eyes only.

"I think they'd fit you," she says with an understanding smile. "Trade ya?"

He nods at her, slowly, his eyes roving over her face like he's wanting to be sure of himself before he commits to anything.

"Let's finish getting your suspenders on."

  
###

  
"Can you get that?"

"Sure," she tells him, slowly getting up off the bed where they've been talking, her face still hot, and walking in her heels to the suite's door.

She stops to grab money out of her duffel bag for a tip on the way. The room service guy doesn't look very curious, just professional, which must be what's required at these kinds of places, she imagines, given the quality of the guests they were mingling with earlier.

Taking the cart off his hands, she pushes it inside and sends him on his way, closing the door behind her.

When she moves it further into the room to the table and starts lifting up the trays to peek and set things up, she feels Coulson come up behind her, and wrap his arm around her waist, then pressing his lips against her neck and she closes her eyes and almost drops the milkshake in her hand.

Managing to get it onto the table, she then turns around to see him, and he looks so certain now, so she kisses him back a little recklessly, right on the mouth, not sparing him at all, and he lets her push her tongue inside, opening for her.

She didn't expect him to make the first move at all, but telling him that the stockings looked hot on him must have done the trick? It wasn't like she'd spent a lot of time in the past getting a good look at Coulson's legs, so this was definitely her chance, all new territory.

The night already started off better than she expected but now it's almost unbelievable.

 _This_ , she wants to definitely get used to, though.

He lifts her up a little to get her on the table, running his hand over the fabric of the suit pants on her now, to press his fingers and thumb against her knee, then push her legs apart to make room for him in between them.

The little gasp that comes out of her mouth when he fits them together surprises her, like he pulled it out of her from somewhere deep, and she twists her fingers in the collar of the half-buttoned shirt as he starts to grind his hips against hers.

It's the feeling of the suit fabric and that the only thing between them right now is some thin wool and silk, and he's hard and a nice size, and he's so nice, fuck, Coulson is such a nice man, how did this ever happen to her?

The little table starts to rattle with the sounds of the trays and silverware moving around on it, and he stops, with a concerned look on his face, and pulls back to see her.

"Am I doing something wrong? Daisy, if I-"

"No," she says, shaking her head at him, running her fingers down his chest, and to his thighs, as she touches the curve of the muscles through the silk. "It just means I might lose control a little bit."

"In," he says, swallowing a breath. "In a good way."

"Yeah," she tells him, nodding rapidly. "I was definitely not wanting you to stop. In a really, really good way."

"Okay," he tells her, with a crooked smile, like he's almost high from hearing her say that to him, as he ducks his head to kiss her again, this time running his teeth along her bottom lip and using his prosthetic to slip the suspenders off her shoulder.

Then he stops and steps back to lift up her t-shirt and pull it over her head, taking a long, adoring gaze at her breasts before pulling the suspenders back up her shoulders and over each, one at a time.

"Is that okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," she tells him and lifts the silk straps of the suspenders with her thumbs, rubbing them along the inside of the fabric, touching her skin as Coulson's hands dig into her hips, pulling her in closer to him again to make contact.

"Are _you_ okay?" she asks him now, laughing a bit at his expression and watching him draw his bottom lip between his teeth again and she decides that it's going to be one of her favorite distractions. Having a bad day? Picture Coulson doing _that_.

He starts to unbutton the shirt he's wearing, slowly at first, and then he opens the front all the way, letting it slide to the floor off his arms. The scar is there, and it's obviously not something he's fond of, the way he moves his eyes away.

So she kisses him again, then puts her fingers along it and follows the path of the pink scar tissue across his heart, feels him swallow as her lips move to his neck, slipping her hands down the hair on his chest and his stomach, until she palms him through the silk of the hose at his waist.

He collapses a little against her, his heart beating fast where her chest is pressed against his.

"You first," he says, as he turns his face against hers, kissing her cheek and then pulling apart the front of her pants that he was wearing earlier with his fingers.

The pants get enough out of the way for him to find she's really wet, and he makes circles with his thumb until she's gasping and then he pushes a finger inside of her.

And now he's thinking again.

He takes one of the chairs at the table and moves in it in front of her, sits, setting her legs up on the arms, pulling her to the very end of the table, and he starts off slow, with his mouth, but then she has to touch him, she needed this, she didn't realize how much until it was happening.

Drawing her fingers across his hair, he follows every little gesture like he's reading a map.

The contents of the table start to rattle again, and this time he doesn't stop, he wraps his hand around her thigh, anchoring them together.

She doesn't try to stop it, either.

  
###

  
"Wow. This is pretty decadent," he says in a satisfied tone, sucking on the straw and looking back across the table at her.

She sips on her own milkshake and looks at both of their completely empty plates.

"The food, or-"

"This night went, much differently than I expected," he goes on, as she wraps her fingers around his foot and presses her thumb into the arch and rubs a little firm circle.

"How is it getting even better," he groans, sliding down into the chair and snuggling into his plush hotel bathrobe, his skin still all pink from the hot shower and fooling around under the water.

Her hair is still damp, too, and dripping onto her shoulders, and she looks around at the mess they've made of the room, at the permanent smiles on both of their faces.

Especially when they look at each other. They have some stories to share, she's pretty sure about that.

Maybe she should go first?

"So, there was this Russian hacker," she starts, fidgeting with her straw. "And I wouldn't call it dating, exactly. You know?"

"Tell me," he says, taking a little sip on his milkshake straw and leaning in closer to listen. "Were there suspenders involved?"

" _Yes_."

Yeah, she could definitely get used to this.


End file.
